Trevor returned earlier than Shara expected. The Christchurch mist had not even begun to fill the night when he came in, tore his tie out of the collar, and threw himself pathetically onto a couch.
Shara brought him a glass of water and sat next to him.
After sipping down half the glass, he said, “They’re all communists. Every last one of them.”
“They’re not, honey. What happened tonight?”
“I was explaining about how my education bill is inspired by Zenith Applied Philosophy, and that idiot Locke laughed in my face. Honey, you’re telling me he’s not a goddamn communist?”